Unmasked, Aflame
by Iricelli
Summary: Laegjarn goes to prom, but not for the actual purpose of going to prom. There, she meets an enigmatic stranger, and the sparks of romance ignite.


**Warnings: AU, crack pairing, Surtr and his cruelty. Nothing worse than what the FE:H story gave us, though.**

**Disclaimer: Fire Emblem Heroes does not belong to me.**

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"**A flame burns brighter in the darkness."**  
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Laegjarn's maroon eyes, behind her black veil, scanned the crowd. Dressed in a garish vermillion gown, she was certain that she would blend right in with all the ostentation milling around the cavernous ballroom, yet sweat continued to ooze out of her palm and coat the wineglass in her hand. Forcing her features into a facade of impassiveness, she calmly lifted the glass to her lips, careful not to let it slip. Faceless people—literally faceless—glided past her, their disguises masking their identities perfectly. An unintelligible hum of conversation drifted to her ears. Laegjarn tuned it out. She was not here for merry-making. She was here, because… she had a mission to carry out.

"_Assassinate Alfonse and Sharena of the Askr House."_

Suddenly, the temperature in the ballroom seemed to skyrocket, and each breath felt like it was being sucked in through a broken straw. Her chest seized up in a panic, her black-painted fingernails cutting deeply into her palms. And then— Pain.

A piercing, searing pain that yanked her out of the memory of her father's words.

She gawked down at the shattered wineglass in shock as the fine prismatic fragments showered down on her orange dress in a tinkle, followed by droplets of scarlet. Then she lifted her head, staring in horror at all the agape faces around her. It was as if time had frozen for those few seconds, with only the sound of her own blood pounding in her temples, and the glowers of distaste and mockery from the faceless souls.

And then, as if nothing had happened, the crowd began to move again. The hubbub and dull buzzing of activity resumed. Such was the life of nobility. Eyes would judge, tongues would wag, but no one would so much as lift a hand to aid you.

It was something Laegjarn understood all too well. Even in her own house. There was no room for mistakes here. Failure meant certain death.

Clenching her fist and hissing through her teeth at the pain, she straightened up. Keep your head high, she reminded herself. No one is going to pay extra attention to—

"Here."

A low, dulcet voice sounded right above her. Laegjarn's gaze shot upwards to the source of the voice, meeting a golden mask obscuring the eyes of an olive-skinned male with a chiselled jaw.

Her own jaw fell open, then she quickly shut it again.

"Do— Do you need something?" she questioned, her voice sounding unnaturally high-pitched to her ringing ears.

The masked man shrugged, and although his eyes were completely covered, she could sense his hard stare boring straight into her. Perturbed, she quickly averted her gaze downwards, studying the stranger surreptitiously. He was tall—taller than herself, and she was by no means short, since she had gotten her height from her father. Two strange white appendages dangled from the top of his head. They were rabbit ears, Laegjarn realised in growing horror. Her sights panned down his body. Purple, white, purple flowers, white polka-dots.

She blanched. What a fashion disaster.

It was then she noticed something in his outstretched hand. It was a long strip of cloth in a cream shade, contrasting against his dazzlingly white gloves.

A… bandage?

Laegjarn darted her sights back to the masked man. He hadn't moved an inch—his arm was still outstretched, his face still stoic, and his still-penetrating gaze made her stomach churn uneasily. She opened her mouth, but it was hard to get words past the lump that had just formed in her throat.

Seconds ticked by, the heat between the two growing ever more intense. Sweat beaded down Laegjarn's forehead.

Finally, she willed her hands to move, plucking the bandage out of the masked man's hand. A tiny squeak of acknowledgement emitted from her frozen self.

The masked man gave a terse nod, and then he was gone, blending seamlessly back into the crowd.

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Two hours had passed.

Laegjarn had spent the time productively. She had bandaged up her own hand, tried to clean off the bloodstains on her dress as best as she could—which hadn't been very effective, as the crimson now smeared across the dress in vertical streaks, and...

She had located her targets. The siblings, Alfonse and Sharena, were by the staircase. They had been chatting and drinking fruit punch just seconds before being accosted by a travelling merchant who had somehow slipped past the tight security. It seemed like ages had passed before the travelling merchant had finally given up and locked herself upon her next unfortunate victim.

Now that Laegjarn's view was no longer obstructed, she could finally see the siblings clearly. Both of them were garbed in similarly repugnant bunny attire—but at the same time, the sight of it couldn't help but stir up memories of the mysterious man who had assisted her.

She would be lying if she claimed her eyes hadn't wandered in search of more than just her two assigned targets earlier.

Watching the two siblings laugh with each other brought a stab of sadness. And jealousy. Neither her sister nor her had ever laughed this heartily before.

And, Laegjarn knew, if she continued to fixate herself on such sentimentalities and delay the mission, there was a chance neither her sister nor her would ever get the chance to do so.

She had to act soon. Enough time had been wasted on trying to locate the siblings and waiting for the travelling merchant to get off their backs. It was approaching midnight, and the young nobles of Askr House would head home soon.

Her father would have wanted her leap straight into the fray to slice their heads off, right before all the other noble houses. Show them our might, he would declare. But Laegjarn was not one to do so. She hadn't the raw strength and power to do something this brazen, and so, she had forged her own path for herself. One that relied on more strategic planning, yet achieved the same results.

She slowly reached for her weapon. In all her years of war, observing land ravaged by fire and famine, and people pushed to their limits of desperation, she had witnessed the devastation it would bring about.

Emerging from the shadows, Laegjarn grasped a handful of her skirt in her palm. Oh, and lifted her pinky finger up. Just like how aristocrats did it. The paleness of her bandage contrasted against her cinnabar dress lined with washed-out ruby streaks, and looking at it caused another pang of guilt to rocket through her.

The man had helped her, not knowing the atrocities she was about to commit.

She shook her head and quelled her emotions. This was not the time for such gloomy thoughts. She had a job to do. The sooner she finished it, the sooner she could… live for another day.

She trudged towards the siblings. They remained oblivious to their surroundings, in a happy bubble of their own.

"I'm sorry," Laegjarn muttered to herself as she ascended the steps beside them. Shifting her arm to grip the banister, she released the weapon.

A sudden pressure wound itself around her wrist, and with unnerving forcefulness, wrenched her arm backwards.

Laegjarn nearly let out an uncharacteristic shriek, watching as the weapon—a rare, deadly poison—sprinkled harmlessly onto the red-carpeted stairs. She whipped around furiously, only for her heart to stop when she came face to face with the same strong jaw and stoic expression.

But this time, there was no hint of good cheer on that face.

Crap. Was she busted? No, there was no way anyone would have known what she was planning. It had to be some cruel interruption.

"Come with me," the masked man demanded, his baritone authoritative.

"I-I need to go upstairs," Laegjarn gritted out, snatching her hand back, the pain from her nicked palm sending stabs of pain through her arm.

And to her heart.

"Then let us head upstairs." Without waiting for a reply, the masked man strode up the stairs, dragging a half-stumbling Laegjarn along behind him. The last thing she registered from the siblings were the excited whispers of "Was that Zacharias?!".

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"I really need to go back," Laegjarn found herself blurting once the masked man—Zacharias, was it?—had shut the door behind them. The duo had entered an empty room right at the end of the darkened hallway, and unease prickled through Laegjarn.

In a room, alone with a stranger…

Not to mention with the affliction of a failed mission weighing down painfully on her body.

She couldn't go back. Father never tolerated failure.

But she had to. For Laevatein.

"Blackblossom poison, was it?" the masked man inquired coldly, no trace of his earlier geniality in his voice. His large, imposing figure blocked the doorway. In the dim room, with the only source of light the moonlight that straggled through the drawn curtains, he looked a lot more menacing.

Even when he was in a bunny suit.

Laegjarn knew that she was doomed. With bulk this impressive, it would take a miracle for her to incapacitate him without severe injury to herself first. But she had to try. She hadn't gotten this far within her household by giving up so easily.

She inched her unhurt hand—which, unfortunately, was her less-dominant hand—to the waistband of her skirt. Beneath the layers of chiffon, there was a hidden dagger in her thigh holster.

"So that's what it is?" Laegjarn asked. Buy time, she thought. Keep him talking and distracted.

"I have it, too," the masked man responded curtly. "Nearly did use it once."

A chill ran down Laegjarn's spine. Then another chill, one laden with guilt at her own hypocrisy, did too as well. So what if the masked man had used it—or attempted to, anyway? She had done the same.

Remembering her objective, she continued talking. "Why?" Her fingers, behind her back, slipped past the elastic of her waistband, and traversed downwards.

"For myself."

In the silvery moonlight that played across the man's tanned face and bleached it, Laegjarn swore his sculpted lips quirked up.

"Yourself?" Laegjarn repeated, her goal temporarily forgotten. "What do you mean?"

The man shook his head, delicate strands of hair brushing across his high cheekbones. "Enough about me. Why did you do it?"

"I?" Caught off-guard, Laegjarn struggled to find words. "I…"

_I did it because I hated them.  
I did it to settle a personal vendetta.  
I did it to settle my family's vendetta._

But no. Those were all lies. Laegjarn didn't know them. Her father didn't know them.

"I did it because my father ordered me to," Laegjarn found herself admitting.

"Your father?" the masked man asked. "Why did he ask you to do it?"

Once again, Laegjarn was at a loss for words. That was the same question that had plagued her conscience for all the days since her father's orders leading up to now. Why did she have to kill them? They hadn't done anything. They wouldn't; they weren't that sort of people. Laegjarn didn't know much about them, but she knew that much from observing their home. The Askr House, down the lane, consisted of a happy family who had a constant stream of visitors from all walks of life. It was a huge contrast to her own foreboding manor at the end of the road, with thickets of overgrown trees surrounding its architecture, and the constant reek of decay and smoke coming from the kitchens.

"So you blindly follow the will of another," the deep baritone voice sounded, startling Laegjarn out of her musings and causing her heartbeat to speed up in fright. Peering up, she tried to scrutinise his face, but his expression was unfathomable. She did, however, notice that his pale eyebrows had knitted together pensively.

A few seconds passed before his words, carried by his dulcet voice that echoed in her mind, started to register. "Blindly?" Laegjarn forced out in annoyance. "No. Not blindly. I do it because I have to."

"Why?"

"For my own life. Who knows what Father would do if his wishes were not sated."

All her words had all come out so naturally, and Laegjarn was left gaping in horror and confusion at how she had so impetuously divulged this information to a complete stranger.

"An abusive parent?" the masked man questioned. "It sounds like a situation you need to try to get out of."

Anger spiked within Laegjarn, a flame that seared the edges of her heart. "Oh, you think it's so easy?" she snapped, clenching her fists. "I think about it every day. I'd have left long ago if I could. But I can't. I have a younger sister to protect back at home." The thought of Laevatein, back in the manor with Father impatiently awaiting her return, sent suffocating waves of desperation through Laegjarn. "Father is ruthless; he'll stop at nothing. Even killing his own children. It's why I have to do it. I just have to."

At that, she thrust her dagger straight at the masked man. The polished blade glinted as it arced through the air, plunging straight towards the creamy exposed skin on his neck.

And then, at the last moment, she stopped.

"Let me out," Laegjarn breathed, her hand trembling as she gently pressed the edge of the dagger down on the man's flesh. "I have to get back home."

To her utter exasperation, the man threw his head back, the back of his head hitting the wooden door with a dull thump, and chortled.

"Go ahead and kill me," he said smoothly, his head still tilted towards the ceiling, pearly white teeth gleaming in the light. "Perhaps then your father might grant you some… leniency."

Laegjarn's arm trembled, but she held her position. "Are you not afraid of death?" she questioned, curiosity bubbling up within her despite her predicament.

"Oh, I am," he replied nonchalantly, as if they were merely discussing the weather. "I'm afraid of all kinds of deaths. Alfonse's, Sharena's—" The mention of the Askr House siblings made Laegjarn gasp. "—my sister's, and my own."

"W-Wait," Laegjarn managed. "You know them?"

It should have been obvious, Laegjarn chided herself. The ridiculous matching bunny outfits. Him swooping in to save them. Them seemingly recognising him as "Zacharias". Her gut twisted in apprehension. So she had tried to kill his friends, and he caught her. What was he going to do to her now?

"I do," he affirmed softly. He leaned back against the door, his broad shoulders slumping. Although his head still remained held high—possibly because of the dagger poised under his chin—the rest of him sagged defeatedly, a shadow of his former self. The iridescent lights that flickered across his white-clad figure made him appear even more washed-out, almost like a spectre. "The irony is that I saved them from you, when… when my blood craves for the very thing you attempted to do." He chuckled hollowly. "Listen to me, trying to sound all gallant. I'm nothing but a filthy liar and hypocrite. But..."

He trailed off, then shook his head, the action causing Laegjarn's dagger to draw blood that oozed out along the masked man's neck in ruby beads.

Laegjarn stepped back, her hand falling to her side, her blade reflecting thin strips of light onto his downcast face. She didn't fear him anymore—no. Not when she finally understood everything.

"The cursed, exiled son of Embla House. Fancy meeting you here."

Once more, those perfectly shaped lips curved up in a smirk. Laegjarn was starting to realise that she yearned to see that smile more often—it complemented his high cheekbones and strong jaw wonderfully, and brightened up his normally severe expression.

She found herself cracking the tiniest of smiles in return as she gazed up at him—for the secrets that they now shared, as complete strangers who had recklessly spilled their guts to each other, and for being worlds apart yet nearly identical.

Maybe it was her losing her mind at the knowledge that her entire life was about to fall apart the second she returned home, but for that fleeting instant, she wished that this moment would last forever. Just her and this mysterious stranger, alone in this darkened room, where the world was calm and silent—

Thunderous hammering resounded around the room, startling the pair out of their skins. In one seamless movement, the masked man wrapped his arm around her wrist, and yanked her towards the window. With his other hand, he unlatched the window. The chilly midnight breeze caressed Laegjarn's face, taking away with it all the heat that had risen to her cheeks at his gentle touch.

And then they were out of the room, sneaking along the ledge to safety.

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The duo had spent the rest of the night in the nearby park. They told each other about their lives—their past, their present, and their future. Their dreams and aspirations. Laegjarn learned that her life goals were pathetic compared to Bruno's (she also learned that was his name): "Staying safe", as compared to his immense bucket list, most of which consisted of dangerous activities like bungee-jumping.

And she found that she liked it.

It was like a whole new world had opened up for her. For eighteen years of her life, all she had known was violence, decimation, and conquest. Never had it occurred to her that things could actually be fun.

She knew there was no turning back from this point any more.

"See those stars? Three in a row?" Bruno raised his arm to trace a line across the inky sky speckled with glittering stars. "That's the constellation of Fehlia. It's said that my ancestors used this to guide their steps as they traversed the world."

Laegjarn said nothing, her eyes trained upon the billions of pinpricks of light winking at her. She hadn't had the luxury to look up at the vast, beautiful sky like this before. Her house was always swathed in smoke, shrouding the sky in a black haze.

It was the most beautiful sight Laegjarn had ever witnessed. And the worst waste of time. A part of her felt wracked with guilt for gallivanting off with a stranger to stargaze, while a part of her was hard at work devising a plan to rescue Laevatein.

"Stars are magical," Bruno continued wistfully. "Everyone sees the same sky, no matter where they are. Sometimes, I wonder if my sister is looking up at the same sky as I am." His voice caught.

Laegjarn wanted to wonder too, but she knew that it would be out of the question. "Are you close?" Laegjarn questioned. "With your sister, I mean."

Bruno gave her a sideways look, and she could almost read the burning question in his mind. "Truth be told, I haven't seen her in months," Bruno sighed finally. "She goes off everywhere by herself, it's… difficult to track her."

She could feel his meaningful stare upon her, but she tried to ignore it. Not yet, she thought. I'm not ready. Instead, she had to keep herself distracted from the dull ache threatening to cave her chest in, and continue strategising. "You can't track her? Why?"

Bruno shrugged, a graceful movement that was ruined by the sight of the hideous floppy ears bouncing along to his actions. "I don't know. Maybe she's in disguise. Maybe she got her masterful deception skills from me." Laegjarn could make out a flash of teeth as Bruno grinned covertly to himself.

"And you let your sister go off by herself?"

Bruno's grin vanished. "No one can stop her from doing what she wants. She has the tenacity of a penguin in search of a mate." His eyebrows furrowed. "Hm, not the best analogy."

Laegjarn laughed weakly; she allowed herself this small respite, as an idea began to take shape in her mind. "She does sound like a handful."

"What about you?" Bruno probed. "What is your sister like?" As he trailed off, she could almost hear his unsaid question: "And what do you plan to do about her?"

"She…" Laegjarn exhaled slowly, shakily, as she recalled her sister's passiveness, her unquestioning loyalty, and blind devotion. The stirrings of emotion swelled in her chest as she knew she'd have to get her out of the Múspell house, no matter what. "She's a good girl. But broken."

Bruno said nothing, then he stood up in a swift, fluid motion. "Come," he said, "it's time we make a move."

"What?" Laegjarn leaped to her feet, hurrying after Bruno. "Now? But we don't have a concrete plan yet! There's no way you can win against my father by charging foolishly at him!"

He turned back just long enough to smile at Laegjarn. "We won't do anything of the sort. Trust me; I have a plan."

Laegjarn gazed back at him, feeling her heart flutter. Maybe, just maybe, things could really be okay.

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Bruno made his way through the exquisite houses lining the roads in the upper-class section of the city. He remembered when he used to live in one of these houses—that was, until he was banished to the slums at the edge of the city at the wee age of seven. Being in this part of town stirred melancholy within him, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Locating the house at the end of the road—not hard to do so, considering it was the only house that was unkempt with overgrown weeds and reeked of smoke—he stepped up to the porch.

Even the act of rapping on the door scorched the skin on his knuckles, and he withdrew his hand with a small curse.

The door flew open, heat rushing out through the opened doorway to warm the chilly air outside. Bruno stared into the house defiantly, shoving aside the searing pain at the back of his eyes.

"Useless child. Have you returned?" a low voice boomed from inside the manor.

Bruno said nothing. Soon enough, the hulking form of Surtr, the head of Múspell House, filled up the entire doorway. A cigar dangled from his thick lips that were permanently set into a scowl. Soot caked into the fine wrinkles of the man's face, giving him a haggard appearance that aged him a whole decade. His blazing-red eyes narrowed at the sight of Bruno.

"It's you," Surtr drawled, his cigar bobbing as it perched at the sides of his mouth. "What do you want?"

"Perhaps this might be of interest to you." Bruno's lips curled at the corners in a familiar smile, then he tossed an object at Surtr's massive feet.

It rolled a short distance before coming to a stop.

A caramel-skinned face, eyes closed serenely, a smile playing across purplish lips, green and orange hair mussed across waxen cheeks.

The air stilled, the heat coalescing around Bruno's exposed skin. Even the crickets stopped their screeching.

"She failed." Surtr stated. There was no trace of anger, sadness nor defeat in his voice. Just unfeeling, factual words. "Useless." He lifted a massive foot, then stomped down callously on the head, causing blood to spray across the room.

"I disposed of the weak for you," Bruno said. He was irked that more blood had gotten on his suit, but he was already dirtied to begin with.

"Indeed, you did. But it doesn't mean anything," Surtr scoffed. "Killing my useless daughter is no feat."

"We had an agreement," Bruno said, a low note of barely-concealed agitation in his voice.

"Are you in any position to make demands?" Surtr growled.

"Return Veronica to me," Bruno said simply. "You want the Askr House siblings dead? I can do it. It's my birthright. But first: my sister."

Surtr cackled, a nasty, grating sound that jarred the senses. "You're a gutsy one, I'll give you that. Gutsy, and stupid. You can have your useless sister, but I expect to see Alfonse and Sharena's heads here by dawn." He gestured at one of the servants, and she hurried down the steps, her head bowed.

"You have my word," Bruno promised. The servant returned with Veronica in her arms—Veronica, looking completely peeved and unkempt, but otherwise fine—and thrust the girl into Bruno's arms.

"What took you so long?" Veronica demanded, as the gigantic doors slammed shut behind them.

"... I was stargazing," Bruno responded.

"Thanks a lot, idiot. And I was in that tiny cell, fighting for breathing space with a rat," Veronica huffed.

"Let's get out of here as soon as we can," Bruno said. "I'll explain more later."

"I really would like an explanation on why you decided stargazing was more important than saving me," Veronica rebuked grouchily.

"Your explanation is here." Bruno's footsteps halted, and he pointed into the shadowy distance.

Two figures emerged from the darkness.

Bruno barely registered the other person; his attention was completely directed to the taller figure.

A caramel-skinned face, eyes hidden behind a golden mask, a smile playing across purplish lips, green and orange hair mussed across waxen cheeks.

Laegjarn, and her sister.

"You made it," Laegjarn noted, warmth colouring her voice.

"As did you," Bruno replied tenderly.

Veronica made gagging noises, to the annoyance of the elder siblings, and the amusement of Laegjarn's sister.

"I'm going to need way more explanations on why you're out with them—" She glared cautiscally at Laegjarn. "—when they're part of the kidnappers' family."

"What?" Laegjarn's sister asked, and then a shout in the distance broke the silence of the dead night.

"Sir, Lady Laevatein is nowhere to be found!"

Almost at once, an orange streak, like a comet, hurtled through the obsidian sky. It crashed onto the ground right before them, shaking the ground from the impact. The heat was unbearable. It radiated out in waves, an initial warmth that felt welcoming to their petrified selves, but later started to feel as if their cells were boiling and peeling off.

And it was amidst this agony that Surtr raised his giant axe, and swung it in a wide arc at the group. The large blade flattened all the vegetation in its way, accelerating as Surtr gained momentum.

Everyone ducked, feeling the weapon pass just a hair away from their heads, then scrambled away from Surtr. Surtr let out a huge bellow, so loud that it seemed to rouse the heavens above, and charged at them with surprising agility for one his size.

"Run!" Laegjarn screamed. The group ploughed through the vegetation—away from the road, away from civilisation, away from hope of survival. But they had no choice; Surtr was blocking the way back to the road.

The singed smell of charred vegetation blasted them in their face when they turned back to look. To their horror, an entire trail of burning grass, set ablaze by the ashes of Surtr's cigar, was left in his wake.

The monstrous man cackled demonically and surged forward, unfazed. When he spoke, his voice sounded like mini explosions, each word striking fear into their souls. "You dare trick me?"

Suddenly, an orange blur shot past Bruno, and when the figure finally stopped moving, Bruno was gobsmacked to see Laegjarn standing before Surtr.

In that moment, she was simultaneously the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed, and the most stupid.

"It is I whom you seek, Father!" Laegjarn called, her powerful voice carrying clearly across the motionless night air. "Spare the rest; come and get me!"

Surtr glowered down at Laegjarn. "You insolent brat. I'll make sure you understand what true pain feels like!"

As Surtr lurched forward, Laegjarn quickly sidestepped his axe, and bolted towards the back—straight into the crackling flames.

The flames leaped upon her instantly, devouring her garments and her flesh. She let out a blood-curdling scream as the fire gnawed right into her bones, the pain of a thousand needles tearing her from the inside-out.

The fire, that her father had feared so much, that he had to set up a pretense that he was borne of flames to deceive others. That very same fire was now flaying all her nerves, rendering her the most helpless she had ever felt.

Yet also liberated and powerful.

Her legs feather-light, she began to sprint towards Surtr, her cloak of fire billowing out behind her.

And then, she felt nothing anymore.

No pain, no sadness, no regret.

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Surtr and Laegjarn were dead.

Surtr had been trapped in a vortex of fire by Laegjarn, his hulking form reduced to cinders.

And Laegjarn had pulled herself out at the last minute, but had collapsed from her injuries not too long after. Her entire lower body was charred beyond recognition—a grotesque, black chunk where a gorgeous orange skirt over long legs should have been.

"Sister!" Laevatein screamed, her voice raw and ragged with sobs. "You— Why? Why did you do it?"

Bruno, too, was on the verge of breaking down. He knelt down by her singed body, his torso trembling with the effort of holding back tears. His gloved hand traced her face gingerly, leaving streaks of mud and grime across her cheeks.

She was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.

And the most stupid.

Cradling the girl in his arms, he finally allowed himself to weep. An abyss had torn itself open inside his chest, and the bountiful remembrances of last night were all toppling into that bottomless canyon, each fallen memory like a stab to his heart.

A girl so beautiful, so brave, and so tragic.

A girl who had gotten the worst lot in life, yet made life worth living.

A girl who had made him forget about the monster that he truly was inside.

"Laegjarn… Please… After all this time, I finally found the secret. Only your light can dispel my darkness. I need you…"

Then, as the last breath left Laegjarn's lips, and the heartbroken bawls of both Laevatein and Bruno rose to welcome the sunrise, the voice returned. It had vanished throughout the night, but now it was back with a vengeance, an insistent bell that wormed its way into every crevice of his mind. His head spun with his anguish and the cacophony of noises. The same word, spoken over and over again, its magnetism impossible to ignore.

_Kill._

And Bruno wanted to.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading this story! If you have any feedback, please don't hesitate to let me know, I'm all ears! :D ****And if you'd like to chat about FE:H, I'd love to do so as well! ^^**

**Some explanations:**

**\- Surtr died from the fire because he's weak to fire magic, LOL. Weapon triangle shenanigans and whatnot. Ironic, isn't it?**


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